


Spring Always Comes

by Janeeyre54



Category: Hexworld - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Romance, witch/familiar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janeeyre54/pseuds/Janeeyre54
Summary: Imagine the New York City of the Vanderbuilt Era, but a society run by witches.  Imagine those powerful witches making an entire class of citizens, familiars, their servants.  Imagine the first-born son of a powerful family nearly dies from a head wound (self-inflicted? he can't remember) but survives.  His new life finds him challenged to complete the smallest tasks for himself.  His family hides him away.  Surrounded by servants he thinks he might go mad from isolation and frustration.  Until he meets his new nurse, an often misunderstood young woman.  Together they learn a new language of love.So much fluff! Many thanks to Jordan L. Hawk, author of the Hexworld series, creator of the characters of Peter and Ingrid.  Also thanks to Sherene Khaw for beta performance and much needed suggestions. I own absolutely nothing of this work, except for th joy of writing it.
Relationships: Peter Yates/Ingrid
Kudos: 1





	Spring Always Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jordan L. Hawk](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jordan+L.+Hawk).



Peter Yates, eldest son of the socially prominent Yates family, sat in his wheelchair by the large window in the parlor of his brownstone. Eyes closed, he basked in the warm sunshine that promised spring was near. Outside he could hear birdsong and the generally increased activity that heralded renewal at this time of year. He opened his eyes and looked to see if his woodpecker friend had returned to the little park across the street. Indeed, he had and began drumming happily on a tree. Peter had made a mental catalogue of all the different kinds of birds he had seen over the last few weeks, noting their colors and markings. He tried to keep his mind as active as possible. Thank God the injury to his brain had not robbed him of thought! His head was full of ideas – mechanisms that might make his chair-bound life easier, hexes that his brother, Owen, could surely make, and political solutions to the growing problem of the iniquities suffered by familiars in society. So many ideas…and no good way to communicate them to anyone.  
His body was the problem. Since the “accident” – of which he thankfully had no memory – he had lost the control of most of his body. He had some ability to move his torso and arms, albeit like a puppet on a string, but he couldn’t stand or walk. His hands were like two useless clubs. His body was a wreck, but he could live with that, find ways to make the world fit for him. The loss he really felt, the thing that made him feel really frustrated and desperate was that he had lost the ability to speak. He could make sounds, he could nod and shake his head sometimes, but in order to be understood he needed the assistance of his servants and the letter board. It was a painstaking process, spelling out words letter by letter. His helper would point to each letter and Peter would blink twice to choose the correct one. It might take a full five minutes for a word. A sentence became an eternity.  
Peter refused to give in. Instead of focusing on what he could not do, he concentrated on what he could do and tried to improve what he could. Today, he decided to work on trying to move his fingers. His plan was to get enough control over them and his left arm to allow him to write on his own. So, he moved his gaze from the cheerful birds outside and focused on his left hand. On his index finger. If he could just get it to move as he directed, even the tiniest bit, he would count it as a victory. Concentrate. Will it to be so. The effort was huge, and he felt a small bit of perspiration form on his brow. Keep trying. You can do it….  
“Good morning, Mr. Yates!” Mrs. Lewis blew into the room, her round face smiling ear to ear. “Remember today is the day for your new nurse. I surely hope this one is better than the last. That girl didn’t have the sense of bag of hammers, poor thing. I am sorry to say that I just cannot see to all your needs myself, Mr. Yates, not with all else that needs doing in this house. I need help!” She chattered on in her motherly manner and Peter attempted to interject nods and grunts where applicable to show his interest. He was very fond of Mrs. Lewis, but she did tend to go on a bit. Soon enough she left in much the same whirlwind she had arrived. Frankly, she could be a bit exhausting. He returned to his exercises. Focus, he told himself.

******************

When Ingrid walked up the steps to her new job she took in a deep breath. Perhaps there would be no comment about her height or her size, or for heaven’s sake her hair. It seemed people in the city weren’t used to women who could fend for themselves. Or, if a woman could fend for herself, the subtle message was that she should at least look like some diminutive, dependent thing. It was funny really. On the farm she was the smallest of her six sisters; which was really good for the farm, especially after papa had died. There was no nonsense about women not being able to do something that needed to be done. They just got on with it. Did what was needed. Protected one another and mama and the farm. Really, if people thought she was big, they should meet her sister Annika. Her sister was six feet nine inches and still growing at age eighteen. And she could pull a wagon all by herself, even if she wasn’t in her familiar form of a draft horse. She sighed. Probably that was enough thinking about the farm. She’d left the farm to find something greater for herself; to find her purpose.  
Perhaps the threshold of this house was where she would cross into that new life and find what she was looking for.  
Ingrid had arrived at her new place of employment just a tad earlier than the appointed time. She bit her lip in anticipation. She wanted to make a good first impression, but more than that, she hoped she would find her purpose here. She hoped she would find what it was that made her leave the family farm and her mother and six sisters. Although she loved the farm, she wanted more. She wanted to be part of something that would make the world a better place.  
She squared her shoulders and marched up the steps. She took another breath, braced herself, reached for the doorbell. Heard it ring. A man came to the door. His eyes only widened a little as he said, “May I help you?” She tried not to let the defensive way she was beginning to feel show on her face. She should be used to the reactions of people to her six-foot frame and white blond braids. “Ingrid,” she blurted. “I am here for an appointment with Mrs. Lewis. I am the new nurse.” He bowed slightly and asked her to follow him. As they went down the hallway, Ingrid couldn’t help but notice all the hexes for health. She really didn’t know much about her new patient other than he had suffered a head injury and needed constant care. The house did have a good feeling about it. Lots of light from the windows, golden rays of sunshine pouring in. The woodwork was a warm oak, not the dark tones some big houses favored, and the furnishings looked comfortably elegant and not overcrowded; there was plenty of space between everything.   
Soon a cheerful looking woman came around the corner of a room and stopped dead in her tracks with her mouth open, taking in Ingrid’s height and strong build. The woman blushed and shook her head. “Oh dear, excuse me! I’m Mrs. Lewis,” she said extending her hand, “And you must be Miss Ericsson the new nurse. Well, come in my dear! We are certainly glad to have you.” She smiled with a wide-open affection Ingrid was hardly used to. She took Mrs. Lewis’s hand. “I am glad to be here. It is a beautiful home.”  
“Well, come and have a cup of tea. Do you like watercress sandwiches?”  
“They’re my favorite actually. I am a swan familiar, you see.”  
“Isn’t that a coincidence. Well, I must confess, I did know that part from the agency and I wanted to make you feel at home as much as I could right away.” As they sat down to the table, Ingrid looked at the large display of tea and sandwiches and thought there must be enough here for her and a few of her sisters. Mrs. Lewis was certainly going out of her way for an employee. Ingrid tucked into the delicious fare and let herself feel as relaxed as she could.   
Mrs. Lewis gave her a long look and began to tell her about her patient, Mr. Peter Yates. Her merry face showed true concern as she described that Mr. Yates was the eldest son of a prominent family and had suffered an accident a few years ago that left in him a wheelchair and unable to care for himself. Ingrid couldn’t help but notice that there was little detail given, as if something more to the story was left out.   
Finishing their refreshments, Mrs. Lewis said, “Now I think it’s time you met the master”. They rose and walked across the hall. Mrs. Lewis opened the doors and nodded toward a figure over by the windows. The man was in a wheelchair and was looking out the window. The sunlight was streaming over him and he was all aglow with it. He turned his head from the window and looked at her with the most beautiful silver eyes she had ever seen. There were like ice on the pond back at the farm, a frosty blue, but without being cold. Her whole being warmed to the thought of being looked at with those eyes and to gaze at them in return. She could feel her whole body tingling with feelings she had never felt before. In a sudden moment of self-consciousness, she hoped she wasn’t blushing. For surely it would be improper to have such feelings about one’s patient and employer. She realized in her attempt to cover her feelings she probably wore the imposing stern countenance everyone read as defensive. She didn’t want to appear troubled by Mr. Yates disability, so she pasted on an awkward smile. He would surely see right through it, but she couldn’t think of what else to do.   
And then something miraculous happened. He smiled. It was not easy for him, she could see. But his whole face was transformed by it. It wasn’t just the sunshine on him, he glowed from a radiance from within. She could feel his happiness. She found herself feeling easier with the situation. She relaxed her pasted-on smile into something more real.   
And she could feel something strange, almost a buzzing between them. As if there was a connection of some kind, even though they had just met. She wanted to float on that connection, to feel its happy glow. She wanted to be closer to him.  
At the same time and with obvious effort, Peter Yates lifted his left arm and beckoned her toward him. She crossed the room toward him and the buzzing became a crackle.   
***************************

Peter could hear voices in the other room and soon the sliding pocket doors opened. Mrs. Lewis was accompanied by the most glorious looking woman Peter had ever seen. She stood at least six feet tall and appeared to be as strong as an oak, but perfectly proportioned. Her hair was almost pure white and hung in two perfect plaits down to her waist. If she had been wearing some classically draped robe, instead of the crisp, professional uniform she currently donned, she would have appeared as a goddess. An Amazon. A Valkyrie!   
He could feel something charging the ether between them, as if there was some glittering, golden cord of electric connection. Not only that, he could feel his body reacting to her beauty and strength. He had never felt such a reaction, even before his injury. By Jove, she was a miracle! He could see she knew of the connection, too, as her creamy skin flushed to a delicate pink. But just as soon as that rosy hue grew, her face closed up, shuttered from the invasion of his eyes. She then adopted a highly exaggerated smile he had seen before. Look, I’m smiling! I’m not bothered at all by your crumpled form and caved in head. Really, I’m not. See?  
Usually a false smile would be off-putting to Peter, but all he could think was how adorable she was. It made him happy all over again - to see her be vulnerable despite her divine appearance. She was still looking directly in his eyes, not giving in to the awkwardness of moment or the awkwardness of her smile. His smile grew naturally. He just let all the joy inside him bubble up and push his sometimes-uncooperative lips into a beaming curve.   
He wanted her to come closer. With huge effort he managed to move his left arm in her direction and motioned to her. She crossed the room and reached for his hand. That magical electric cord became more intense the nearer she had come to him. When she touched his hand, it was like a lightning bolt! Heat and light and power surged through him and all he could see in the world was her and he felt as if her heart were right next to his, in his body and hers. It was the most intense feeling of intimacy he had ever had. The intensity was almost frightening. He was pretty sure this was more than just a miraculous physical attraction. Could it be that this familiar and he had a spiritual connection as well?   
****************  
Crack! As she touched Yates’ hand she felt a lightning bolt of connection. Was he a witch and no one told her? The feeling was so intense that she almost fell backward. He kept holding on. She felt a glowing warmth in her chest, just behind her heart. It was as if she had been kicked by a horse in the most loving way possible. It was so intoxicating she almost had to drop his hand. He on the other hand gripped hers with a strength she had not thought he possessed. He hung on. He refused to let go. It was as if he was telling her he felt the same.  
But that would be impossible. She slowly let go and he did the same. She felt a bit empty without his touch. How curious.

Ingrid and Mrs. Lewis left the room, Mrs. Lewis speaking a bit too loudly to Mr. Yates, telling him they were just going to talk over the details of his care. Ingrid bristled at the idea that Mrs. Lewis did not regard him as a person who could understand such ideas. He wasn’t a potted plant for heaven’s sake! As she closed the doors, Mrs. Lewis said, “Well, there certainly seems to be something between you two. I have never seen the master react so to someone in all my years. Not even his brothers. But we will talk more about it later. The doctor has advised against getting him too agitated.”  
Ingrid was completely astonished by the meeting. She felt immediately protective of this man. She would see that he came to no harm. What was to be done? Many times, patients would become upset if their care was discussed in front of them, reminding them of what their limitations were. But Ingrid felt this man was frustrated by not being part of the discussion. The frustration was the source of his agitation, not his limitation.   
“Perhaps we should return to Mr. Yates and discuss his care with him,” Ingrid said. “Is there a way you communicate with him? I believe he wants to be part of the discussion.” Mrs. Lewis looked somewhat chagrined. “We use a talking board, like the ones some use to speak with spirits. He spells out all sorts of things, but sometimes he seems to get too excited by the whole process. I don’t know if it good of him,” she said, worry and all over her round face. Ingrid tried a more delicate approach, “Surely it will get easier the more used to the method we become. We cannot imprison him in his own body, unable to connect with us in ways we take for granted.” She saw awareness in Mrs. Lewis’s eyes, and perhaps a bit of guilt. “Imagine Mrs. Lewis, how frustrating it would be to have your own thought and know all that was happening to you and around you, but not be able to comment on it. I am surprised Mr. Yates not been driven completely mad. It only speaks to the excellent care and affection of the household. You should be proud, Mrs. Lewis”.   
***************  
Peter marveled at the feelings inside him after Ingrid and Mrs. Lewis had left. He tried to imagine what he would say to anyone if he could speak. He wanted to explain to Ingrid all the thoughts that were racing around in his brain.  
He wanted to explain what his condition felt like. It was hard to remember what his life had been like before. In fact, he couldn’t really remember anything from the time of his injury, not even how he received it. The first thing he really remembered was waking up in the hospital with the most excruciating headache, thinking he must be restrained somehow, as he could not move a muscle. Months went by and exercises were tried, but he could not walk. The doctors told his brother, Owen, that he would be little better than a vegetable. Mother and father would not consider putting him in an asylum, the scandal would just be too much for their coveted place in NY society. So, he was quietly stashed away in a lovely brownstone on the upper west side, like an old trunk of forgotten clothes, now out of fashion.  
He tried not to think about what his life had been before the accident, the heir apparent to the Yates legacy. He had New York in the palm of his hand and then it was gone in the blink of an eye. Now the burden lay on fastidious Owen, who was much more at home in his laboratory than in other people’s company. And Owen had willingly stepped into the role, even to the point of almost marrying Edith. The wedding was to be the event of the season. But a group of fanatics and radical familiars had swarmed the church, holding everyone hostage inside. People would have been massacred but for the quick thinking and heroic acts of Owen and his familiar, Malachi. Unfortunately, the catastrophic attack of disgruntled familiars killed several important figures in NY society and made clear the way for the Pemberton act, now being discussed in the State Senate. It would allow the summary rounding up of all “dangerous familiars”. Without due process, without appeal. Without hope. The wrongness of the whole damned idea curdled Peter’s stomach.  
Left to these gloomy thoughts, he might have gotten himself in a real funk, but now he turned his thoughts toward Ingrid. So strong, so lovely and so new. He had been looking forward to meeting someone new. God knew he loved his brother Owen and even his sly familiar, Malachi, and he had real affection for his long-time trustworthy servants, but the same faces, no matter how loving, no matter how loved, sometimes became boring and tedious. Boredom was his biggest enemy now. And the foolish doctors kept harping on about how he mustn’t become agitated. So much so that dear Mrs. Lewis began to treat him as if he were an infant, an imbecile. God it was so frustrating! Mustn’t grumble, he thought. You’re still alive. 

He thought again of Ingrid. Her hair was white as down feathers. Her form though, good lord! She was grace and strength in one perfect package. He couldn’t help himself. He had smiled at her, although he was sure it had looked like some kind of ghastly caricature. The electricity that had slammed through his body when they had touched had almost been too much to bear. He had been surprised to find strength in his hand when he had grabbed hers with all his might to try to express what he could not in words.   
He must make her understand. But how? Blast this infernal divide between them! How could he make her understand when he could not speak! Surely, she had felt the connection. What it meant to her he could not yet tell, but he knew it was there. And then he overheard her saying what no one else had, “Imagine Mrs. Lewis, how frustrating it would be to have your own thought and know all that was happening to you and around you, but not be able to comment on it…” Oh, yes, my goddess! You do understand! They reentered the room with the letter board. He could see the determination on Ingrid’s face. Thus began the painstaking process of “talking” with the letter board. It might take forever, but to be in her presence made eternity bearable. 

*****************  
When they returned to the room with the letter board, Ingrid observed as Mrs. Lewis painstakingly went through each letter. When she saw Mr. Yates blink she told Mrs. Lewis to stop, then made note of the letter. It was difficult to say the least; difficult to know when a word ended and the next began. But Mr. Yates’ perseverance was unmatched. Except perhaps by her own. Together, they were determined to unlock the keys to communication. A few hours every day and they would become more and more proficient. 

Ingrid had been working with Mr. Yates for about a month. They had become easier with one another – she no longer sensed the desperation in him of their first meeting. But daily she was fighting her attraction to him. She dreamed about him nightly. In her dreams she was able to touch him in decidedly unclinical ways.

The days were filled with exercises and therapies designed to help Mr. Yates become stronger in mind and body. Being a country person, Ingrid insisted on frequent walks and outings. “We must not let you become bored, Mr. Yates” she explained. He nodded in agreement. One day she suggested that they try swimming as a form of therapy for him and he readily agreed. She asked Mrs. Lewis to arrange things at the club down the street. After consulting with Mr. Yates, he told her of an idea to get him into the water.   
A sort of sling on a pulley was provided and, with the help of two strong servants, he was lowered into the pool. Ingrid, already in the water, was behind him and had her arms under his, releasing him from the sling and helping him stay afloat. He was so close. She felt his broad back though her bathing dress and her nipples became taught. She tried to not think about her arousal at this kind of intimacy with him. As she bore him across the width of the pool, she felt his twisted muscles relax. His arms were hanging loosely over her tight embrace, but one came up slowly and he gently put his hand on hers and tilted his head back as if to say how wonderful this experience was for him. Her heart, so tightly guarded until now, positively melted. Warmth infused her and she rested her head against his and a sigh escaped. She imagined herself in her swan form covering him with her wings. If only….. Too soon the water exercise ended and they returned to the brownstone. Mr. Yates seemed energized by the novelty, but exhausted with the effort. 

Sometimes in the night she would hear him crying in pain and she would rush to his room, only to see him writhe in agony from cramped muscles or some other torment. Mrs. Lewis wanted to give him laudanum right away, but Ingrid asked if she could try to massage him first. She had so much admiration for his endurance. She took her time and smoothed as many muscles as she could. He always gazed at her with the most grateful look with his incredible, intelligent eyes. He clearly did not want his senses dulled. And every time they touched, that crackling energy between them was revived. 

• *. *. *

Months had passed and Peter felt delighted and terrified at the same time. He was completely in love with Ingrid and knew she felt something toward him in return. But what could he actually hope for between them? How could he tell her? If he told her, God help him, it would be with the blighted letter board. It made him so angry at himself and his circumstances. Ever since they had met Peter had felt a magical connection with Ingrid. Could they be witch and familiar as well? If so, what kind of witch could he possibly be? Bah! It was maddening to have all these feelings and no way to express them. His anger turned to sadness and he found himself becoming depressed. He just felt so useless. He turned in on himself, refusing to eat, refusing to even use the blighted board. Maybe he would just die, and then everyone would be better off. Days of gloom turned into a week. Bitterness turned the week into a month.  
Of all persons, it was Mrs. Lewis who confronted him one day. “Mr. Yates what exactly is the meaning of this behavior of late? I’ve seen you down in the dumps before, but never this long. Never this hard. You’re pushing everyone away with your self-pity! And do you know who it’s hurting the most? Ingrid, that’s who. She cries herself to sleep with worry over you. After all that she’s done for you, too. All her new ideas. All her techniques. I can’t say as I always understood them, but I can see how much things had improved for you. I’d even go so far as to say that I haven’t seen you so happy since I began my employment with you. But then all that happiness turned off, just like a faucet. And instead you’re surly and growly and you won’t eat and your going to kill yourself at this rate and I just won’t stand for it I tell you!  
Do you know what I think? I think you love her, Ingrid, that is. I think you love her and it scares you silly. And I also think if you don’t tell her I will just leave you to kill yourself under someone else’s watch. I will resign my position. I cannot continue to witness this. You are the finest, bravest gentleman I have ever worked for and I cannot abide your current path of self-destruction.” And with that she turned on her heel and left Peter, mouth open and amazed. He heard her feet stomping up the stairs and imagined Ingrid was about to get the same lecture. Well, if there was one thing he could not stand it was cowardice. He was more than some damn imbecile in a wheelchair! He still had his brain! He began to think of how he might tell her. 

Later she came downstairs, eyes red- rimmed from crying. She came into the sunny parlor crossed to where he sat in his chair. She was trembling, this valkyrie, as she knelt before him. Mrs. Lewis must have put the absolute fear of God in her. Her voice wavered as she spoke. “Mr. Yates, Peter, I know we need to talk. I know we both have been suffering and I cannot see the way clear. But I think, if I transform into my familiar form we can see if our connection is really there and if we can help one another. Shall we try?” He nodded emphatically. She stretched herself and kisses his eyes. Bliss! And then his mouth. Heaven! “Let me in, Peter.”  
And in an instant he opened his eyes and an elegant white swan was before him. Her feathers were so white, like fresh snow. “Ingrid? Can you hear me?” “I can! I can! Oh Peter! I can hear you!” And she spread her pure wings around him and he rested his head on her and she draped her long and graceful neck on him and tears began to flow from his eyes. For the relief. For the beauty of the connection. For being free. “Ingrid, you are so beautiful and strong. I would not have you see me weep. But they are tears of joy! Your efforts have helped me overcome my long imprisonment of silence. You are my liberator! From the moment I saw you I knew you would do me good. I fell together we can do so much good for others. All I want in this world is to find a way we can be together. But…”he paused, looking deeply into her swan eyes, “ I’m afraid, because, although I would give you everything inside me, I am so changed since my accident. I would not want to shackle you to a half-life with a half-man. That is why I was pulling away. It’s useless though, to fight against all the feelings I have for you. I may be but a fraction of the man I was, but I would give my whole self to you forever. If you would have me.”   
“Peter,” she seemed to say in his mind,” I have never known anyone like you. You are not a half-man, you are fully yourself and you are amazing. I felt the connection too, when we first met. But I fought against it. The difference in our stations made me fear that we could not be together. I am so used to not being understood, only being seen as some giantess, that I shut off my feelings to protect myself. That is a half-life. But with you I cannot fight those feelings anymore. You see all of me and I cannot live that half-life. I want to live a whole life with you. I want to be amazed by you every day. Yes, I will be yours. I already am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, I am so technically challenged I couldn't figure out how to make itallics in HTML. I hope you get the parts where Peter and Ingrid are speaking to each other's minds. Really I hope you drop all this and go read the Hexworld series. It's great!


End file.
